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Our city’s name is in itself a reference to the body of water that it was founded upon - Dubh Linn. These rivers helped to shape the cities that grew around them. For much of history, the development of these cities has been intrinsically linked to their relationship with water. Acting as a main artery, the coursing rivers acted as sources of nutrition, hydration, sanitation, paths for trade, and most intriguing for us, as public spaces.
Looking at a plan of Dublin, we can see how the city grew from the river. James Butler, 1st Duke of Ormond, as Viceroy of Ireland during the seventeenth century, helped to define the city's relationship with the Liffey by developing the quays, the longest of which still holds his namesake; Ormond Quay. Inspired by his travels through France and the opulent grandeur of Paris, he declared that buildings should now face the river – as they do on the Seine – whereas before they turned their backs on it. However, despite this early urban intervention, it is these quays – these public spaces – that this author believes to be hardly working.
The Liffey is the spine that holds the capital city. Along this artery, the quays have always acted as a natural route from east to west. However, making your way along the quays, whether walking, cycling, or driving, you feel as though you’re always fighting for space; for your right to the road. The car takes priority along the quays, dominating the space, and even acting as another barrier and hazard to pedestrians and cyclists. When walking on the quays, at the river's edge, you feel trapped; you’re given a narrow path and are surrounded both by the natural barrier of the water and the man-made danger of traffic, oftentimes impeded by bus stops, public bins or the – although beautiful – mature trees planted on the footpath; another thing fighting for its own space. The few cafes and eateries that are along the quays – businesses that by nature are outward facing – have little or no room to present themselves, further adding to the transitory nature of the street.
Running west-east, the Liffey can be described as an avenue made of water. Framed on either side by its river-facing buildings, it still maintains its Georgian character. A style that is elegant but also austere in its outward restraint. These many facades are built right up to the property boundary line, making an already narrow footpath seem smaller. They are often void of any relief [1] which can make them seem to mesh together to create an impression of a singular wall, closing you in. There are, however, some points of respite to these issues; the meshed singular wall is broken up at times by certain inlets like at Liffey Street or on Wood Quay by the Civic Offices. The Liffey boardwalk, by McGarry Ní Éanaigh Architects and opened in 2000, was an ambitious and innovative project designed to address the chaos of the quays, but, unfortunately, it is generally avoided due to anti-social behaviour.
In direct comparison to Dublin, Timișoara is another city that was founded on a river – this time, the Timiș River in Transylvania. A smaller city, comparable in population to Belfast, its relationship to its river through its waterfronts takes a different approach. The city in its modern form developed from a star-shaped fortified settlement which sat on a raised bank of the river amid marshlands. Over time, as the city grew beyond the capabilities of its walls, it began through hydrographical projects to drain the marshlands and create a new waterway in place of the river, the Bega Canal.
When strolling along the waterside it’s easy to forget that the landscape you’re walking through is highly engineered; tree-filled parklands populate the sloping embankments either side of the canal. The water level sits lower than the city level, further creating a sense of separation from the busy city and cars that run along the roads above the embankments. Large wide steps leading down to the river invite you to sit by the water’s edge. There are restaurants and bars with terraces interspersed along the embankments. Considered civic structures with bike paths, benches, and well-designed lighting at night allow it to take on another life in the evening – there is even a nightclub built into the underside of a bridge. Boat tours lazily cruise up and down the water adding to the sense of relaxation. To say that this space is working hard seems almost ironic because the atmosphere is so natural and effortless, as though it’s not working at all.
I don’t mean to suggest that the solution for Dublin’s quays is the Bega waterway – the two are almost the antithesis of each other. Through varying geography and historical development, the two offer very different atmospheres. However, I think that the city’s quays have enormous potential, and there is much that can be done to improve them. Generosity in pedestrianised areas for new developments can attract more businesses, leading to more footfall and in turn help to dissuade any antisocial activity. Further planting of broadleaves would complement the existing mature trees. A good public space is one that can accommodate a variety of activities and functions – the quays in Dublin are still playing catch up.
Working Hard / Hardly Working is supported by the Arts Council through the Architecture Project Award Round 2 2022.
1. The term relief is from the Latin verb relevo, to raise. To create a sculpture in relief is to give the impression that the sculpted material has been raised above the background plane.
Bloom Lane, situated off Ormond Quay and near the Jervis Shopping Centre, is Dublin City's unofficial Italian district. A perfect example of a previously ignored alleyway working hard to reinvent its function and impact on the surrounding urban landscape, Bloom Lane is pedestrianised, with properties on both sides. Bloom Lane is an excellent example of an alleyway that has transformed from a practical passageway into a dynamic public space with a cultural appeal.
The 'Italian Quarter', was originally designed as part of an urban regeneration project on the 'decaying northern quays'. The development maintained the facade of an older building while the frontage was cut through to construct a pedestrian access route running from the Millennium Bridge through the Italian Quarter to a zebra crossing that connects to the rest of the Millennium Walkway and the Jervis stop on The Luas Red Line. Bloom Lane has been revitalised through the use of public art, careful lighting, and clever design.
Today, the lane stands out as a creative area in the city thanks to its vivid street artwork and colourful paintings. In addition to making the neighbourhood more attractive, these artistic features give it a distinct personality that draws people on foot and promotes exploration. The installation of expansive murals and public art, which gives the area vitality, marked the beginning of Bloom's Lane's makeover. These vibrant, eye-catching pieces of art transform the alley into an outdoor gallery, providing local artists with a platform and visual stimulation for onlookers. By giving the alley a unique character, the artwork transforms it from a plain backstreet into a renowned example of urban inventiveness, that draws both locals and tourists to the area, making it a destination rather than just a shortcut.
Bloom Lane highlights how, with the proper interventions, even modest, underutilised places in congested urban settings can be transformed into assets that work hard and add to the city's cultural and visual appeal. Bloom Lane thrives because it strikes a balance between aesthetics, usefulness, and community interaction. This transformation of an ordinary alley into an inspirational location demonstrates how small-scale urban interventions can have a big impact. Imaginative design can make even the most ignored streets work hard for the city and its residents.
On the other hand, across the Liffey, Exchange Street Lower, near Temple Bar and Essex Quay/Wood Quay in Dublin's city centre, is a public place that falls short of its potential, despite its prominent location, and the cultural and historical value of its surroundings. The street is disappointing due to poor design, neglect, and missed opportunities. This alleyway lacks individuality, with a dreary and utilitarian style that fails to capture the liveliness of its surroundings. Compared to the bustling and distinct atmosphere of adjacent districts, it feels generic, with no unique features or undefined architectural elements to catch attention or engage passersby.
Adjacent restaurants attempt to activate the route's courtyard with outdoor seating. The courtyard, a hidden space with potential, remains disconnected and underutilised, further emphasising the need for cohesive planning. Other efforts such as The Báite Viking longboat – a unique feature that hints at the potential for the street to connect more deeply with Dublin’s rich history and culture, via an artistic installation that draws upon the city’s Viking heritage – remains a point of pride and intrigue for both locals and tourists. However, much like the street itself, the longboat fails to engage its surroundings or the fleeting glances of those who wander.
Despite its high traffic volume, Exchange Street Lower is hardly working, offering little to encourage visitors to stop and interact. The lack of greenery, benches, or other pedestrian-friendly amenities restricts its function to that of a shortcut rather than a destination. Exchange Street Lower represents a missed opportunity to connect key cultural landmarks in Dublin.
Exchange Street Lower and Bloom Lane are both instances of Dublin's tiny urban areas. Bloom Lane demonstrates how small-scale, smart interventions – such as decent lighting, regular maintenance, and the introduction of public art – can transform an alley into a dynamic and engaging location. In contrast, Exchange Street Lower exemplifies the dangers of neglect and a lack of purpose, even in a desirable location. The striking contrasts between the two demonstrates the transformative power of design and investment in urban settings. Where Bloom Lane works hard to create value for the city, Exchange Street Lower rarely works, and remains an untapped asset waiting to be realised. Bloom Lane demonstrates how intelligent interventions may transform a space into a dynamic and engaging environment, while Exchange Street Lower is emblematic of neglect and wasted opportunities.
Examining Dublin's unofficial Italian quarter, Bloom Lane, in contrast with Exchange Street Lower, an area that suffers from neglect, poor design, and missed opportunities, Sarah Adekoya highlights the importance of purposeful interventions in urban development.
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The innermost tip of the estuary is where the wild Atlantic Ocean meets the River Shannon, the body of water that shares its name with Ireland’s first new town. Building work on this new community began in the 1950s, with Shannon emerging as a symbol of the excitement and optimism, seeking to manifest the ambitions of the newly established Irish Free State. Envisioned as a ‘‘city of tomorrow", it attracted industries and factories from England, the United States and Europe, encouraged by the development of the nearby airport and Ireland’s first free trade zone in the nearby industrial estate. Architects Downes, Meades, and Robinson, along with town planner Frederick Rogerson, designed the town’s housing and infrastructure.
I live in the Cronan Estate, at the end of the terrace, in a four bedroomed home that my grandparents moved into in January 1975. The most exciting part of Cronan is the layout and urban design. Architects traveled to Europe and England, looking at examples of innovative post-war housing developments, inspired by the seminal Garden City Movement that emerged in the early 1900s. This movement imagined built up urban centres surrounded by green belts, providing inhabitants access to nature while also dividing different civic spaces. Inspiration was also gathered from the Radburn Design developments, first implemented in New Jersey in the 1920s, taking an approach to planning that separated pedestrians and cars, creating distinct zones within housing developments with defined uses. This division of spaces is achieved by having the fronts of houses facing onto a shared green space while the backs are used for more functional purposes. In both of these examples there is a clear division, separating the green areas from the more functional built environment.
Following these principles, in the Cronan estate, houses enjoy large green spaces at their fronts, with parking, roads and access installed to the rear. The front, the focus of the estate, is carefully designed so that it is working hard. The backspace by comparison is hardly working, a leftover space that over time has had to compensate for changes in use and increased spatial strain. This layout of greens along the front allows one to walk from one side of the estate to the other without crossing a road. This is replicated in many of the original estates in Shannon, creating a meandering pedestrian green band, with very few roads between. Through this well planned out organisation, these spaces flow into one another, as if the houses and greens naturally sat in perfect harmony from the beginning of time. They are working well, and for me, while growing up, it would have seemed inconceivable for the estate to be laid out differently.
The low garden walls are the perfect height for my neighbours to sit and chat. When I dig up my garden at the start of the summer, people stop to chat, to talk about their own gardens; there is a pride in maintaining their fronts. Neighbours and local groups come together to maintain the greens, planting trees and flowers. The trees fill the views from my living room, allowing me to watch the seasons changing from within my home.
The communal front areas are an extension of the home and gardens of the people living here. They provide a safe and inner sanctum, meaning that people feel at ease leaving their children to run outside. This outside space is working hard, and is an important space to the people of Cronan. When I was a child I would play at the front, sometimes running back through the alleyways, my feet clanging the metal manhole covers as I ran between the front and back of the houses. Lying in bed at night, I still hear the sound of someone travelling that same route, with the same loud clanging of the metal manhole echoing into the silence of the estate.
The backs of the houses by comparison are hardly working, serving a more functional purpose, providing access to the roads and parking. The patchwork of well considered green areas and walkways along the front are a stark contrast to the backs that are formed by leftover space rather than intentional planning. The roads slink their way through the estate, allowing for cars as a mere afterthought.
The back is where you park your car, unload groceries and dry your clothes. Neighbours work on their cars and people might sit outside on summer nights drinking. This space has many uses and functions. Between arguments over parking and the most direct route to the pub, this space is noisy and overused causing the backs of the houses to struggle to contain the noise leading to its overspilling.
Part of the problem lies with the limited space designed for parking in the 1970s, with an increasing number of cars crammed into the small space. This is reflected in the changing materiality of these backlands over time. When the estate was in its infancy, small green spaces were peppered across the back with beech trees. Green was interwoven with the practical use of the space for parking and access, linking the two spaces through its shared materiality of the front. These spaces have been replaced with tarmac and concrete, strained by efforts to provide room to accommodate everyone.
This once vibrant public space has been sterilised. Still, it holds the potential to work hard to serve the needs of its residents each day. A return to its previous state is still possible, however, green spaces beside parking have recently been tarmaced over due to them being viewed as untidy. If these could be replanted with grass and trees, this small change would unite the front and backs again. Planting along the alleyways would further enforce this link and also help to improve biodiversity. These small changes would return the spaces to the original vision of the planners and architects of Shannon and in turn improve the quality of spaces for everyone, it would lead to a space that is able to work hard again.
This essay focuses on Shannon New Town, exploring its history from the development and conception by architects to the personal and social history of Aoife’s family. Comparing two spaces within the housing estate of Cronan, highlighting the architectural and social significance, as well as the broader social importance within Shannon.
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Two cities, both alike in dignity: one vibrant, revelling in its love of watching and being watched; the other smug and staid - watching and watched but neither advertised. This article takes its inspiration from Dublin and Paris, though equally it could be London and Rome. One is on the continent of Europe: full of piazzas and long balmy evenings attracting walkers and maunderers. There are buzzy bars, café’s and bistros and the city feels like one large open air exhibition of sociability. The other is not continental, though might sometimes fancy it. The Victorian obsession with manners is still being shaken off and the idea of openly advertising your curiosity is too vulgar for words.
A recent trip to France and Italy left me feeling full and satisfied; not just because of the good food but the good cities, where sociability is prioritised resulting in safe, happy and diverse places to meet. In this article I wish to look at the importance of celebrating and observing the social life of cities, in essence: people watching. It is no coincidence that le flâneur, a wandering observer of urban spaces, is a French term with no direct translation into the English language, or that the Italians have a specific word for an evening stroll which is taken to both exercise and socialise—to look at others and be looked at: La Passagiata.
The value placed on people watching is most obvious in Paris where café’s and bistros on boulevards and squares offer row upon row of chairs, all facing outwards allowing their sitters to simply wait and watch the world go by. It is a form of urban theatre with the prime spots being those at the front - a ville spectacle. A city that encourages people watching does more than just enabling nosiness, it allows for moments of connection between human beings and in so doing, generates an understanding of the importance of great public spaces in cities. A great public space is a democratic space, [1] a forum for strangers to interact but more than this, it reduces isolation and increases social support. Affection between human beings can, depending on the space, increase in public rather than decrease. In turn, these moments of affection and closeness ‘draws upon and contributes to the richness of public life’. [2]
The ‘English Pubs’ or ‘Irish bars’ in Paris offer an interesting study into the difference between these countries’ when it comes to public life and how it is viewed, or, as is most often the case, not. In all that I witnessed, these spaces of libation and meeting were lined with seats and benches facing not outward but inward, toward each other. Though this article is not about the seating arrangements within the hospitality industry, I do believe this to be a microcosm of a wider social issue: countries that are yet to value the beauty and importance of people watching, a spectator sport that should not just be limited to meetings of the Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA). The café culture of Paris, where residents are encouraged to sit and linger over their coffees on streets and sidewalks, has extended into other realms of public life and planning. Its residents no longer need the excuse of coffee to enjoy the city from a vantage point: it is a city that espouses this ethos at every turn, offering public seating and places for lingering in abundance. ‘Whereas cities were once dominated by necessary activities, cafés brought recreational life into play with a vengeance’, [3] streets are for staying rather than merely passing through.
In his checklist for convivial public spaces, Jan Gehl lists twelve qualities that public spaces should strive for, one of which is ‘opportunities to see’. [4] Gehl is an architect and urban designer who understands the importance of the human dimension in cities stating that ‘the quality of a dwelling and city space at eye level can in itself be decisive to everyday quality of life’. [5] Thinking of Dublin city, where I lived for many years, I struggle to think now of its truly public places - spaces where people can gather and socialise, people watch and exist; where the enjoyment of the city and its urban spectacle are afforded without paying a premium for a coffee or a drink. At the heart of this issue, is a capital with a disturbing lack of public seating, squares and places of congregation. Two obvious examples that come to mind are Smithfield square - so large in scale it results in a dwarfing of any human form - and Portobello Harbour which has now, controversially but unsurprisingly, become the front yard of NYX Hotel.
In recent years Dublin has also become a city that has seen a decrease in public perceptions of safety. According to a poll conducted in 2023, residents of Dublin felt less safe in the capital than in 2016. [6] An increase in Garda presence could be one answer but is there also an argument for ‘eyes upon the street’? [7] Jane Jacobs’ great cry for safety in cities could be as relevant in 2025 as it was in the 60’s. To achieve this we need cities that encourage people onto the streets, to enjoy and watch. So, in the name of happier, safer and more human cities let us facilitate, not inhibit, our natural gregariousness and curiosity.
Promoting people watching in cities may be more important than we think. In this article Phoebe Moore looks at two cities and their differing approaches to public places and curious eyes.
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